


The Lies We Tell Ourselves

by lea_ysaye



Series: Illusions [2]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Het, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Love Triangles, M/M, Medical Conditions, Past Abuse, Rickyl, Slash, Trauma, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9420026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_ysaye/pseuds/lea_ysaye
Summary: The prison has fallen, the group is dispersed. As they desperately try to find each other again Rick, Daryl and Sara's bond is tested, and old nightmares sneak back into their lives.





	1. Michonne

**Author's Note:**

> I have made one significant change to the canon narrative: Merle is not dead when the prison falls.

“We’ve got to move, Sara.”

Michonne looked down at the little doctor, curled up on herself against the trunk of a fallen tree. All she could see was the woman’s dark mop of short hair, tangled and sweaty, small twigs and leaves stuck to it. Michonne sighed and turned her head restlessly, peering into the underbrush through which they’d come mere minutes ago. Was something moving in there? Was that a moan she could hear?

She stretched out a hand. “Can you get up? I’ll help you, c’mon.”

The face that finally turned up to her looked translucent in the dusky light. The expression on the pale features was barely discernible, Sara’s eyes the same disconcerting blank they’d been all day. Finally she nodded and began to push herself up stiffly, using the trunk for leverage. Finally upright she staggered. Michonne quickly grabbed the other woman’s upper arm.

Sara barely seemed to notice someone else was with her. She cradled her belly with both arms, the bulge like a dark shadow emerging from her slender frame.

“Let’s go,” Michonne whispered. The approaching moans were definitely growing louder.

They set off down the well-concealed path Michonne had so often traveled with Daryl in recent months. She thought longingly of the hunter. If he were here with them now Sara would be his to protect, and Michonne could concentrate on getting them away. But the reality was starkly different. It seemed to be her fate to have sick and vulnerable women thrust upon her, with the universe sitting back and watching how she fared.

When Michonne found Sara, hiding in the middle of a cluster of low, prickly shrubs, the little doctor didn’t want to come away. “Daryl said to go and hide here. He didn’t want me to help.” She motioned vaguely at the ruins of the prison, staring at the smoke curling greasily in the distance. Her voice was full of detached disbelief.

 _No,_ Michonne thought wryly, _of course he didn’t want his six months pregnant girl in the fray of violence, bullets flying everywhere._ She peered closely at the other woman’s face.

Shock. Just great.

Aloud Michonne said, “They’re all gone. I checked. There’s only the dead left, and some of them will be here soon.” Fleeing the wreck of their home she had spotted the largest group of shambling corpses she’d ever seen make their way down the road by the prison, drawn, no doubt, by the din of the battle.

“Daryl will come. Or Rick.” Sara frantically scanned the surrounding trees.

“Maybe,” Michonne sighed. “But all they’ll find is another ambling corpse. Let’s go, Sara. We’re running out of time.”

Sara nodded, her face oddly blank. She let Michonne lead her away into the woods. As they stumbled along over roots and slipping on wet fall leaves Michonne’s mind bleakly wandered back.

From where they were standing now it was clear as glass. The fall of the prison had been inevitable. Their efforts to ward off this foregone conclusion looked laughably feeble in hindsight. They should’ve left weeks ago, Michonne was sure. She had even suggested it a few times, as the negotiations with that crazy man from Woodbury dragged on. But she’d understood the others, then and now. Why Rick in particular had been adamant that they had to make a stand.

Sara’s pregnancy was folly. The specter of Lori had been haunting the prison, and even Michonne, who had never known Rick’s wife, thought of her end only with a shudder. And even if the pregnant woman lived, how could they keep a second infant safe? A baby would weaken them. Michonne had dwelled on it for weeks, but she had kept those thoughts to herself.

It was impossible, anyway, to be upset with the little doctor. In the early weeks of her pregnancy Sara had flourished, and her happiness had been a homing beacon in an increasingly bleak world. Every time Rick came back to the cell block, pale and exhausted from another fruitless meeting with the Governor, or sweaty from dealing with the steadily growing number of walkers outside their gates, his face invariably lit up as soon as he saw Sara.

Watching Daryl, lean and dirty from one disappointing foraging trip after another, make a beeline for his girl and wrap her in his arms, his face alight with love, gave the others hope that maybe trying to build a new world was not entirely without point.

As Sara’s belly grew the hope they all tried to feed so desperately had shifted, their efforts had doubled. The prayers they sent to a deity in which hardly any of them believed anymore suddenly sounded urgent. “Please, let us be safe here, for the children.” The effort of mere survival was replaced, for many, by a future worth believing in.

Utter folly.

Michonne had known it then, but she had prayed along with everyone else. She’d even gone out to do what none of the others dared, just to give them a fighting chance. Her trap, at the abandoned factory where negotiations were planned with the Governor, worked as planned. She had killed every single one of his men – only, the Governor hadn’t been with them. The men she’d killed had been a vanguard, and Michonne had barely escaped with her life when Philip Blake had shown up with his main fighting force.

That had been mere days ago, and it was all unimportant now. For here she was, once again, in the wilderness without protection, water or food, and once again a helpless creature was hers to protect.

But, Michonne realized while she helped Sara negotiate some jagged rocks as they clambered up a steep gorge, she didn’t really mind. She was guarding Daryl’s and Rick’s precious little doctor - and the hope that their baby still symbolized. She was protecting a piece of the future, the little ray of hope that wouldn’t die.


	2. Rick

“Rick! Oh god, your face…”

Sara hurried over and sat down inelegantly next to him on the sofa. He caught her small hands before she could touch his sore cheek, noting absently how cold they felt in his. “It’s all right, darling. It’s already healing, I’m fine.” He scanned her face. She looked gaunt and pale, dark rings like nightmarish make-up circling her eyes. “When did you last eat, or sleep?”

It was her turn to wave his concern away. “I’m fine, Rick. Michonne’s made sure of it.” She threw a quick, grateful glance over her shoulder at the other woman hovering by the door, but her eyes returned quickly to Rick. “Let me look at you. I…I saw…some of it. I saw that monster hurting you…” Her voice broke, and Rick tightened his grip on her shaking hands.

He shook his head. “Later, maybe. There’s bigger problems to take care of first. We need food, and water.” He threw Carl a long look. His son was standing next to Michonne, both their faces full of concern. “No sign of any of the others?” Rick asked. Michonne shook her head, frowning.

“Nothing.”

Rick’s heart sank. _Daryl can look after himself,_ he told his worried mind for the hundredth time. At least he had Sara back, the most vulnerable of the group. And his special concern, in any case.

He glanced back down as Sara gave a little shudder, closing her eyes. Before Rick could ask if she was all right a surprised little smile crept onto her face. The sight, to Rick, was the sun breaking through a week-long cloud cover. Sara reached out and took his hand, placing it on her swollen belly.

“Feel that?” Her dark blue eyes were suddenly alight with joy. “She’s woken up.”

Heart beating fast Rick waited for the next burst of movement. There! A flutter under his fingers, then a tiny bump pushed up out of Sara’s abdomen. The doctor gave a quiet little laugh. “She’s excited today.”

Tears were stinging the corners of his eyes. He turned his head, blinking them away, then glanced at Sara to see if she’d noticed. But her small, pale face was lowered, distracted by the life inside her.

“We have to find provisions.” Michonne’s voice jolted them out of the reverie. “And then we need to decide what to do next.”

“We’re staying here,” Rick said. “It’s as safe as anywhere. And,” he glanced at Sara again. “It’ll be nice to get some rest.”

Sara looked at him, then nodded. “You need it, too.” She reached out and stroked his less bruised cheek carefully with one finger. Then she pushed herself awkwardly to her feet. “Michonne and I’ll go scavenging. We won’t be long.” She smiled at Rick. “You sleep a bit.”

“No, sweetheart.” Rick got up just as stiffly and took her hands again. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re exhausted.” He glanced at his son, who nodded. “Carl and Michonne can manage.”

Sara hesitated, chewing her lip, and Rick was forcefully reminded of Daryl when the hunter was grappling with an unpalatable truth. He felt a stab in his heart. None of them had mentioned Daryl yet, but his absence was looming large.

Finally, Sara nodded. She sat back down with a groan and craned her head to look at Michonne. “Try and find some meds, ok?”

*

How he got them both out he’s never quite sure later. The last clear memory before it all descends into chaos was lying curled up around Sara on a bed upstairs, holding her small form as she nuzzled close, talking quietly about her time with Michonne, about her fear for Daryl, about Rick’s injuries. No concern for herself, no mention of how tired, sick and exhausted she must be feeling in her condition, starved, parched and cold, forced to walk for miles to get away from the horror they had created.

They both dropped off eventually, and woke into hell.

Rick killed one of them, and he would’ve killed more to protect her. All told, they were lucky. It was over so quickly, and the only one they really saw was the one Rick killed, in the bathroom from which they escaped.

Michonne came running just when they made it onto the veranda roof, and somehow, with her help, Rick got Sara onto the ground. The doctor hit the lawn hard, and Rick heard her cry out when he lowered himself and the bullets started flying. Michonne and Rick scooped Sara up between them and, somehow, they got away unscathed.

Now the four of them were hidden in the dense brush off a country road, three miles from the house they had hoped could be their hideout for a while. Sara was standing there hunched over, arms cradling her belly, breathing hard.

“Sit down, sweetheart.” Rick reached out to help her lower herself, but Sara shook her head.

“Not here. We need to get away further.” She straightened with a wince and pressed her hands into the small of her back. Her face was ghostly. Michonne held out a water bottle.

“Drink.”

They waited while Sara tipped the nearly empty bottle and took a small sip. Rick watched her throat working, the vein in her neck still pulsing with the exertion, reminding him of a small, frightened animal. Sara handed the bottle back and they set off down the path again.

Rick brought up the rear, keeping one eye on their surroundings, one on Sara carefully picking her way over the uneven, narrow path. She was limping slightly, and Rick wanted to offer help. Something held him back, and all he felt he could do was stick close, alert for any stumbling or swaying, praying they’d find shelter soon, aching to get her to rest.


	3. Daryl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might very well be my last TWD fic, at least the last longer one. I want to finish it, but I want to do it well. So it might take a while since I have to fit it in between my other writing work. Have patience with me? :)

Losing people was his fate. Sometimes they died under his very nose, and he’d stare down at the corpse, feeling sick with the sense of failure. Sometimes they just vanished.

Like Beth. Gone, in those few minutes he’d been distracted by the walkers, and the guilt was eating him up. Curling up on the icy ground at night, shivering so hard under his vest his muscles cramped up with it, he saw her face, and tears stung the inside of his eyelids.

He’d fall asleep with her face before him, and dream of the others he’d lost. The pain of it would make him cry out in his sleep.

Sara, her small face so pale and tired, yet smiling at him, her dark blue eyes full of love, and a promise. Rick, tall and strong and alert, keeping watch over them both. And then he’d wake, tears icy on his face, and nothing was as it should be. The only thing he could think to do was to keep hoping that, at least, Rick was with Sara, and that he’d keep her safe.

And Daryl would get up off the ground, and trudge after Joe and his men, alert for any sign of his people, until, exhausted and heartbroken, he’d settle down for another night under the cold, indifferent stars.

Again and again his mind returned to that moment when he and Beth had reached the clump of dense, thorny brush that Daryl and Sara had designated as her emergency hiding place. The fighting at the prison had been over for hours. He and Beth had had to double back and hide several times, avoiding ever-growing groups of corpses shambling towards the ruin of their former home. When they had reached the spot, it had been deserted. And as hard as Daryl had looked that first day, the walkers roaming the woods had obliterated any human tracks after a few dozen yards.

For months before the fateful day, at night when he couldn’t sleep, Daryl had talked to Sara about his contingency plan. “If we gotta leave in a hurry, and ya get out alone, hide in them bushes. I’ll come and find ya.” He’d been foolish not to share their agreement with anyone else, not even Rick. The council had discussed evacuation of the prison, but nobody had spent enough time to really plan, and foolproof those plans. The yellow bus should’ve been stocked and ready. They should’ve scouted for buildings they could fall back on – schools or train depots, or huts out in the woods. They’d been so sure they’d beat the Governor, so focused on keeping the prison, they’d become blinkered.

The security they’d deemed themselves in had been false, and Daryl should’ve seen it. He, out of all of them, should have been suspicious, alert and realistic. He’d know his entire life what impossible dreams looked like; he knew how to stay safe. But he’d wanted to hope, too. That things would work out. That their baby was safe. That his happiness, his family, his true, final home, was real, and lasting.

Being with Joe and his gang was worse than being alone. Daryl tried not to draw attention to himself, but failed miserably right from the get-go. After that asshole Len’s death, which was partly his fault, Daryl had wanted nothing more than to leave. Then he overheard Joe the leader talking about a man his group was seeking. That man appeared to have killed one of their number, and Joe wanted revenge. Gut instinct told Daryl to stay with them.

As he stumbled behind the men through the woods for another day his mind replayed the end of the prison over and over. He should’ve stuck with Sara. He should’ve been at Rick’s side. _They can’t be dead_ , he told himself, over and over, until his head was aching as badly as his heart. He would know. Somehow, he’d know. After all, he’d known she was pregnant before anyone else did, too.

That night, his sleep was broken and disturbed by a new nightmare. In it, Rick was dead. He stood before Daryl, eyes milky white, face bruised and bloody from the fight with the Governor. He stretched out his arm towards Daryl, and moaned that terrible moan of the undead. Daryl, heart black with fear, turned and ran, trying to find Sara and their child, which, somehow, had already been born.

He woke from the dream with his heart pounding, the taste of blood on his tongue. He’d bitten through his lip in his sleep, to keep from screaming.

Maybe his instincts were wrong. What if Rick was dead? What if he’d been so badly injured in that last, terrible fight that he’d been defenseless, and had died all alone in the woods? Life without Rick was as unfathomable for Daryl as life without Sara.

When he clambered back to his feet in the cold, drizzly light of another morning, his stomach twisting in painful knots with foreboding and dread, he finally made up his mind.

He would find them, or die trying. This wasn’t life.


	4. Rick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made some changes from canon that I felt needed to be made so that the story is consistent. No disrespect intended to the other characters.

The exhaustion was palpable inside the little church. The faces around Rick were ghostly in the flickering light from candle stubs and gas lanterns running out of fuel. The atmosphere couldn’t have been more different from the feast they’d had here mere days ago. Tonight, nobody had eaten more than a few bites of their meagre rations.

Beth’s death, and all that had happened at Grady’s Hospital, lay over them like a shroud. They had gotten Carol back, and Rick counted that as the biggest blessing of the day. He still didn’t know exactly what had happened to her in Atlanta. She and Tyreese had disappeared together, and when Tyreese had returned with that boy Noah there had been no time for discussion. All they’d been able to focus on was rescuing Carol - and Beth. Rick’s heart hurt when he thought of the Greene girl. She’d been so young, such a ray of sunshine for their group. Life wouldn’t be the same without her.

When they’d gotten ready to go into Atlanta Rick had tried to convince Daryl to stay behind with Sara. But their little doctor had demurred. “They’re both your family,” she’d said to them. “Go get them back.”

Michonne had kept an eye on things in their absence. She was very protective of Sara since getting away from the prison together, and Rick was glad to have her have his back.

Rocking Judith in his arms, who had finally nodded off but was still fussing, Rick scanned the room for Daryl. The hunter hadn’t left Sara’s side since their return from the rescue mission. Now they were near the front, Daryl leaning against the side of a pew, legs stretched out before him. Sara was nestled in his arms, resting her head against his chest. Her eyes were closed, her face translucent with exhaustion. Two plates of hardly touched food sat by Daryl’s side, and his hand lay protectively on her swollen belly.

A movement off to the side caught Rick’s attention. Michonne emerged from the church office and went over to where Daryl and Sara sat. Daryl looked up at her, but it was Sara who Michonne addressed. “Come with me,” she said, leaning down and putting a hand on Sara’s shoulder. “I’ve made up the sofa in the office. You’ll be more comfortable there.” Her voice was low, and carried only because everyone was silent.

Michonne glanced at Daryl. “You and Rick can sleep in there, too.”

“Thanks,” Daryl said, and helped Sara clamber to her feet. He got up, too, moving stiffly and slowly. Rick turned around to Carl, who was sitting next to him, still picking listlessly at his dinner.

“Can I leave Judith with you?” Rick asked, glancing over at Daryl again. Carl followed his gaze.

“Sure,” the boy said, and reached for Judith. He took her carefully from Rick’s arms, shushing as she fussed. Rick’s heart felt heavy. Carl had grown up beyond his years in the last few months. He was an adult now, shouldering the same responsibilities as everyone else. Rick felt both proud and sad. This wasn’t the life he’d wanted for his children. Not the ones he already had, or the new one that was on the way.

He stroked Judith’s head briefly, gave Carl a smile, and stood up.

“Hey,” he said in a low voice when he got to Daryl’s side. Daryl didn’t turn, but kept looking at the dark doorway to the church office through which Sara and Michonne had disappeared.

“D’ya think it’s over?” he said after a moment. “Are we alright now?”

He was talking about their little doctor, of course. The truth was, Rick didn’t know if Sara would be alright. The last few days had been madness, and he’d barely had time to exchange a word with her. But he had the same sick feeling in his gut as Daryl. Sara didn’t seem alright to him.

Daryl’s face was gray in the dim light of the church. His black eye looked stark against the pallor, and Rick now noticed several more cuts and grazes on his cheek and neck that he’d missed before. Sara had reached out once, right after it was all over with Joe’s men; professional habit compelling her to check their wounds. Daryl had drawn away, and she hadn’t tried again.

“Let’s get some rest, buddy,” Rick said, not wanting to answer any questions, and wary of thinking up new ones himself. “You’re dead on your feet.” Daryl was swaying slightly, and Rick didn’t know how much longer he could stand up himself.

With a hand gently in the small of Daryl’s back, Rick moved them towards the church’s office. Both he and Daryl were limping. They had to be a sorry sight, but nobody paid them much attention. All they could hope for now was that nothing else would attack them.

Sara lay on the sofa on her side, a blanket covering her legs and the bump of her belly. Her blue eyes were huge in the pale face, shimmering dark and bottomless in the light of a single small storm lamp. She watched Daryl come closer, and extended her hand when he went down on his knees by her side. Right by the sofa, blankets had been spread across the thin carpet for Daryl and Rick.

Daryl gave a small groan and cradled his chest with one arm, while holding Sara’s fingers with the other hand. “Yer ok?” His voice was thin and hoarse. She pulled their intertwined fingers close until they rested on her belly.

“I’m fine, darling.” Her voice was barely a whisper. Daryl’s hand tightened on hers. He straightened up, his eyes roaming over her face, her prone form. Rick had that icy sense of foreboding again.

“Daryl,” he said, stepping fully into the room. Michonne, wo was hovering by the foot of the bed, looked at him sharply.

Sara’s eyes met Rick’s, and she gave a small nod. Eyes back on Daryl she smiled a small smile. “You need to sleep, darling,” she said gently. “We all do.” She motioned at the carpet right next to the sofa. “Stay here by me, really close.”

Daryl nodded. His hand came away from his ribs, and he stroked her hair. Her eyes briefly closed under the caress, but when Daryl let go of her they opened again. She watched him as he lowered himself awkwardly until he was lying on his back. Then her eyes found Rick, and they were brimming with a question he wasn’t sure he wanted to understand.

His attention was drawn by Michonne, who walked towards the door. “Get some sleep now, all of you,” she said, giving them a long, level glance. Then she turned to Rick. “And call if you need anything.”

“Thanks for your help,” he said. “And if you need anything, call too, alright?”

She nodded, then left. Rick was just about to lower himself down to the floor next to Daryl when Daryl gave a hiss, then started shifting around.

“What is it, buddy?” Rick asked.

He shrugged, but when Rick caught his eyes and wouldn’t look away he finally said, “My ribs, they’re real sore.”

Rick considered. He looked around and picked up a spare blanket that Michonne had put on the end of the sofa. It wasn’t a cold night, none of them would need a second blanket. Then he motioned at Daryl. “Sit up for a moment.”

Daryl did so, with another wince. Rick went onto his knees and folded the blanket into one long, broad strip, then lay it down below their pillows, where his and Daryl’s chest would come to rest on the thin carpet. His own chest was still sore, too.

Daryl lay back down carefully. “Thanks.”

“No problem, buddy. Might be as comfortable as we can.” Rick waited to see if the tension would disappear from Daryl’s face. After a moment his features relaxed, and Rick focused on Sara.

She gave him a small smile. “You always look out for us,” she murmured. Her eyes were drifting closed, she was finally allowing her body to rest, now that everyone was taken care of. That instinct never shut off.

Rick reached over Daryl’s prone form and stroked her face gently. “You’re the one keeping an eye on us. Gotta take care of you, too.” Her eyelashes fluttered against his fingers and Rick felt his throat tighten. “Go to sleep now, sweetheart.”

“You too,” she whispered, nearly asleep.

For a moment, Rick kept his eyes on her, noting every line on her too thin face, the dark circles under her eyes. How fragile her collarbones were, showing just above the neck of her dirty t-shirt. This wasn’t right, they needed somewhere safe for her, where she could rest, and have the baby in safety. Her due date was less than two months away.

With a lump in his throat he finally lay down by Daryl’s side. Daryl gingerly rolled onto his side. Rick’s heart twisted in his chest. Daryl looked just as bad as Sara, the wounds on his face angry red and purple against his pale skin.

“She’s really not so good, Rick,” he murmured, and added, after a moment, “I’m real scared.”

Rick brought the blanket with him as he stretched out, covering himself and Daryl up to the waist. Daryl was still wearing his boots, just as he was himself. They couldn’t afford to be unprepared.

“No,” he finally said, when he had finished arranging the blanket and couldn’t stall any longer. “No, she’s not good.” The pain and fear on Daryl’s face broke his heart.

“What’re we gonna do?” Daryl asked, his voice hollow.

Rick felt for Daryl’s hand under the blanket, and intertwined their fingers. “We’ll sleep, we need it. Then we’ll see.”

He felt awful for not having an answer to Daryl’s concerns, and when Daryl’s eyes began to fill with tears he nearly made up a lie, just to make the hunter feel better. But he forced himself to be silent. Lies would help nobody.

After a moment, Daryl swallowed. “Alright,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Rick whispered back. Daryl’s fingers tightened on Rick’s as his eyes fell shut, unshed tears beading his lashes. In less than a minute his breaths began to even out, and he was asleep.

The little church was very quiet. Barely a rustle came from the main space. Rick listened to the silence for a long time, dreading the morning.


	5. Rick and Sara

The barn smelled of mold and damp straw, of blood and sweat and worse. Everyone’s face looked ghostly in the first light of dawn. Rick’s eyes wandered from one pale oval to the next, and they stared back at him, expressions unreadable.

He’d stepped away from what was going on in the corner, had meant to go over to Daryl, who was standing by the opposite wall, hugging himself. Bloody handprints up and down his arms showed that he’d been at it for a while. Rick took a step towards him.

“Rick.”

Michonne’s voice was choked with tears. Rick turned around, keeping his eyes away from the bundle in her arms. He glanced back at Daryl, then at Sara, who lay on her side against the back wall of the barn, her head on Carol’s knees. Her whole body was trembling.

He had to be with her; she needed him. But Daryl’s anguish was as pervasive as the smell of decay, seeping into his bones like a fever. Rick dithered, sick and shaky.

“Rick,” Michonne said again, her voice near breaking point. “We need to…”

The bundle in her arms moved feebly, and a weak snarl came from it. Michonne nearly dropped it. Daryl moaned, and all eyes went to him. For a moment, it looked like he would collapse. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, head hanging down. The strangled noise of distress came again. But then he straightened up and turned around.

His face was a chalky mask, the shadows under his eyes so huge they took up his whole face. They spoke of countless sleepless nights out on the road, that had been devoted to caring for their little doctor as her condition deteriorated. Rick felt the same ache in his muscles that Daryl had to be feeling. For nearly two days they had carried Sara, taking turns, as she had slipped further and further away.

Daryl came over to them on unsteady legs, walked past Rick, and stopped by Michonne’s side. Rick belatedly realized what the hunter was about to do. He took a step towards him, but Daryl shied away, shaking his head. “No, Rick. This is on me.”

Rick stopped, arms limply hanging by his side. _If you can die from a broken heart,_ he thought dully, _now’s my time._

The baby’s tiny head was revealed as Daryl pulled away the dirty towel covering him. The face was still smeared with blood. The little body gave a kind of spasm, and Michonne shuddered involuntarily. An animal whimper came from deep in Daryl’s throat.

“Daryl, no. Let…let someone else do it.” Rick was pleading now, his voice feeble and teary. He didn’t care.

Daryl ignored him.

He placed one hand on the baby’s downy head whilst groping for the knife on his belt with the other. Rick tried to keep his eyes on the baby’s face. He had to bear witness, he owed that to his dead son. But he couldn’t stomach it. So instead, he let his eyes wander up to Daryl’s face. The hunter’s mouth was a bloodless line as he pressed his lips together. Tears were cascading down his pale, dirty cheeks. He looked like he was about to pass out.

There came a slithery, wet sound as Daryl’s blade slid into the nape of the newborn’s neck.

All strength drained from Daryl and he dropped his arms heavily by his side. Rick ached to go to him, take him into his arms. But he couldn’t move.

After a long moment, Daryl turned and walked slowly from the barn. Nobody stirred.

*

She’s so cold, and so tired. Inside her mind, there’s a small part of her that still knows why, and that knows what’ll happen next. She’s going into shock. The blood loss, no food, hardly any water for days. Hour after hour of labor through that never-ending storm. She’s dying. Earlier, she could feel the sticky blood she’s lying in, but it has mostly soaked into the dust now, and she can’t really feel her lower body any longer, anyway. Even if through a miracle she doesn’t bleed to death she’ll develop sepsis, in this dirty, stinking barn.

“Rick.” She’s not even sure she made a sound, her ears aren’t working too well. She tries again, gathering all her strength. “Rick!”

This time he looks around. His eyes a red with crying, dulled with grief. She lifts her hand a couple of inches. “Please…”

She has to see him, touch him, just this once. He’s been a part of her for so long. Daryl thought their baby would be a girl… Daryl…

She loses track for a little while, floating in the should’ve been and could’ve been. The barn recedes, and the coldness, and she’s suddenly warm and free and…

“Sara.” When she manages to focus on her surroundings again, Rick is crouching by her side. He’s holding her hand, stroking her wrist like he does Daryl’s when the hunter finds himself trapped. Sara glances past him. Michonne is still standing there with the tiny thing in her arms, which is now utterly still. He’ll never move again. He stopped moving inside her two days ago, and the world has not been real since then.

“Please,” she says again. “I have to.”

Rick tries to catch her eye. “Sara,” he whispers. “Sweetheart, I don’t know…”

Her vision is suddenly blurred. Is she passing out? But no, there are tears running down into her hair now, slick and hot. She’s vaguely surprised she still has enough moisture inside for crying. She squeezes Rick’s hand, or tries to. She can’t feel her fingers move. “Where’s Daryl?” she breathes.

Now Rick’s eyes fill with tears as well. He looks up at Michonne, who sighs, but steps closer. When she makes to kneel down, too, Rick holds out his hands. Michonne hesitates, but then puts the tiny body into them. A low, guttural moan comes from Rick’s throat.

Sara is so weak, she can barely lift her head. Carol shifts and props up her upper body for her. Sara glances around gratefully. She had entirely forgotten that she’s resting on Carol’s legs. As she moves, something twinges deep inside her. She suppresses a shudder.

The dirty towel is covering the baby’s head. There’s blood on it, and Sara can smell it, and it makes her feel sick. Rick supports the body with one arm and folds down a corner of the towel with the other hand. The small face, covered in blood and vernix, is expressionless, the tiny mouth slightly open. Under the half-closed lids, Sara can see the pupils, covered with a gray film just like those of the adult walkers. Rick gives a strangled whimper.

Sara wants to touch her son’s face, badly. Instead, she reaches for Rick’s free hand that’s lying limply on the ground. He looks at her in alarm.

“Sara, what is it? You’re icy…”

She’s not paying attention. Her eyes are glued to the baby. He was dead, dead inside her for days, before her labor finally started. And then, when Michonne and Carol helped her give birth, pressing on her belly so hard she thought she’d burst, he came back. He has no teeth, and no fingernails. He can’t hurt anyone. But she felt him try, heard him growl and snarl.

“He needs a name,” she whispers.

“No, Sara. Not now,” Rick pleads with her, but she doesn’t listen.

“And we need to bury him.” Her hand slips from Rick’s, she has no feeling left in her arms.

“Sara?”

Michonne finally knees, and quickly takes the baby. Rick leans over Sara. “Sweetheart, stay with me!”

She has to tell him it’s ok, she just needs to rest, but she can no longer speak.

“Rick!”

Is that Maggie’s voice? There are blurred outlines by the barn door, Maggie and Sasha and…

“What happened here?” A male voice, unfamiliar. Rick is suddenly gone from Sara’s side.

“Who are you?” he demands, putting his body between her and the stranger.

“I’m Aaron. I…look, I can help. But I don’t think we have much time. Will you trust me, if I tell you I can help save this woman’s life?

Sara doesn’t hear anything else. A warm, gray cloud envelops her, and she floats away on it.

 _Iain,_ she thinks as she sinks under. _His name’s Iain._


	6. Sara

Her first conscious thought was _Too quiet_. And when the feeling began to return to her limbs, she realized she was entirely too comfortable. Almost like sleeping had been _Before_.

It took a while before it occurred to her to open her eyes. Her head, her body, everything was moving in slow motion. She turned her head this way and that, blinking in the very bright light.

A room, with wallpaper depicting flowers and birds. A dresser, an armchair. Everything brand new, and expensive. Sara looked down. She was lying in a bed, the sheets clean and white, and smelling like spring.

Rick’s face, hovering anxiously above her, was the first thing that seemed to make any sense. But he looked different, too. Clean, and without the beard she’d grown so used to. His forehead creased in a frown, his eyes red with fatigue, he sat down on the bed by her side.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He was trying to smile, but his lips trembled. “How’re you feeling?”

She had to think about that for a good few seconds. “Okay?” she finally ventured, not entirely convinced, and not convincing Rick either, by the look of him.

But his smile became a bit stronger, a bit more sincere. “You’re awake, and talking. It’s a start, I suppose.” His hand against her face felt warm and familiar.

“Where…where are we?” She let her eyes glide around the room again, noticing Carol standing by the door. She smiled slightly, and Sara tried to smile back. The tall, broad window letting in all that light showed her the tips of a house opposite, and a clear, blue sky.

“Alexandria,” Rick said, like that explained anything.

“Where’s Daryl?” Sara asked suddenly, craning her neck as if he might be hiding in a corner. Her gut clenched with fear. Rick was here, he’d been waiting for her to wake up. Why hadn’t Daryl done the same?

Rick didn’t speak at once. He exchanged a glance with Carol, then the tremulous half-smile was back on his face. “You really need to rest, darling.” He stroked her hand briefly, then, incredibly, made to get up from the bed.

With a swiftness Sara didn’t think she had in her she grabbed his wrist. “Rick! Where’s Daryl!? Tell me, now!”

The tears in Rick’s eyes were no longer just a shadow; they came hard and fast and ran down his face as he sank back down onto the bed. “He…he disappeared.”

*

Lying around for days on end, unconscious and not moving her limbs, had left Sara weak and entirely dependent on the goodwill of others. But she was adamant to leave her bed now. “I’ll crawl outside on all fours if you don’t help me,” she growled, pushing herself up. “I need to see the grave.”

Once she was up and moving it would be easier to convince Rick of the other thing she had to do, burning in her even stronger than the urge to visit her son’s grave. They had to go out and find Daryl. Her baby boy was dead, but if something happened to Daryl both her life and Rick’s would be irrevocably destroyed.

After exchanging a long look with Rick, who finally nodded, conceding defeat, Carol helped Sara wash and dress, a procedure painful enough to bring tears to her eyes. Her lower body felt like it had been crushed in a trash compactor. She said nothing, gritting her teeth.

And then she was stumbling through the strange house, down a staircase covered in thick, luxurious carpet. Rick had his arms around her, his face a mask of worry and grief. “Did you sleep at all?” Sara asked him quietly as he led her towards the back door. He looked down at their feet.

“I see his face, every time I close my eyes. His…his expression as he put the knife…the knife against the baby’s head…” His voice died away on a desperate sob. Sara hugged him as hard as she could.

They stepped out into the bright, warm day. Sara’s eyes were drawn to a high wall a few yards behind the house, stretching as far as she could see in both directions. “What is this place?” she asked.

Carol answered. “Luxury housing development. It never got completed. People drifted here after…after it all happened. There’s a sewage system, solar energy generators. Sustainable living, you know.” She looked around. “Deanna told me, she’s in charge. Her husband, he built the wall. Useful skills…”

Her voice trailed away as Sara’s eyes focused on the stretch of grass between the house and the wall. A cluster of graves lay there, and nearest to them, a tiny one, the red earth freshly piled into a small, tidy mount. She limped down the stairs, giving Rick no choice but to support her.

A small cross sat on top of the mound, roughly whittled. In uneven letters it read, _Iain_.

“How did you know?” Sara whispered.

Rick wiped his eyes before answering. “You kept saying that name, all the time while we drove here.”

A hollowness spread through Sara like bile. “Iain was my father’s name.” The words grated in her throat like gravel. For a moment, she had the insane urge to throw herself on top of the mound of earth, of pulling away from Rick, of cradling the tiny cross and curling up as near to her son as she could, to wait for death.

She shuddered, and wrenched her gaze from the crooked letters. “What happened, Rick? Why did Daryl leave?”

Rick shook his head. “He…he made the cross. Put it on the grave, after…after it was all over. Then he walked out of the front gate.” He was crying again, and wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I was distracted. I thought you were going to die. I thought he’d come back, once he’d had time…time to grieve. It’s been three days…”

Sara wrapped her arms around Rick and leaned her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and the almost silent sobs. Rick buried his face against her hair. “I failed him,” he whispered.

_Of course you didn’t._ She wanted to say it, so badly, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she pulled away until she could see Rick’s face. She took his shaking hands in hers and held on tight. “Let’s go find him, Rick.”


	7. Daryl

Daryl wasn’t very surprised to wake up with his hands bound behind his back, lying on the leafy forest floor. He didn’t even need the confirmation of the low voice singing somewhere close by to know who had captured him. Nobody else could sneak up on him like this but the man who had taught him all he knew about tracking.

Merle.

How his brother could even be here Daryl had no idea. Why he’d followed them all the way from Georgia, though, wasn’t hard to guess.

Daryl tried to sit up. His eyes weren’t working too well; lying on his side he could barely make out the shape of Merle sitting on a nearby log in a small, shady forest clearing. He shifted slightly, then shuddered. His head was hurting fiercely. There was a throbbing right behind his left ear. Merle must’ve hit him hard over the head with…something. He tried to push himself up again, and an array of dizzying lights erupted before his eye. Daryl moaned as the world swayed and lurched.

“Look who’s up!” Merles rough voice was gleeful. Hearing it made Daryl’s heart race.

He shifted to find purchase. Scrabbling with his bound hands he touched something rough. Bark. He was lying under a tree. Using the trunk as leverage Daryl finally struggled to sitting.

“How’d ya find us?” he asked. He had to force out the words, they made his head swim. Daryl closed his eyes for a moment, willing the world to stop spinning.

“Followed y’all, since Terminus. Was with them cannibals a while.” Merle grinned his most evil grin. “Ya forgot, haven’t ya? I can track anything, lil brother. Turns out, even state lines don’t stop me.”

Daryl’s stomach sank. “Why did ya not come out?” he asked. Rick would’ve never accepted Merle back into the group. And even if he had, Daryl wouldn’t have let him. Not now, not with Sara there. Even if she hadn’t told Rick exactly what Merle had done to him, Daryl would’ve told Rick himself. His brother was dangerous, and Daryl would never let him come near Sara and their baby. Thinking of the still little body in Michonne’s arms, the slickness of his son’s blood on his hands made Daryl’s heart ache.

“Saw yer lil doctor,” Merle grunted, jolting Daryl from his memories. “Didn’t think I wanted to meet her.” He gave Daryl a shrewd look. “Don’t matter now, but did ya ever tell her?”

What Merle meant was, had he ever told Sara that Merle had found out where he’d ended up with his injuries after Merle had pushed Daryl from the speeding car? That Merle, in his drunken, drugged head had sworn he’d kill the bitch who knew the truth. That he’d taken his motorbike to the clinic, and that Daryl had raced him in the truck, getting there just in time to talk Merle out of going inside and shooting the doctor.

“No,” he mumbled.

Merle snorted a humorless laugh. “Course not, ya pansy. What yer boyfriend say to it all, eh?”

The truth was, Daryl didn’t know how much Sara had told Rick. Did Rick know how much of a doormat Daryl had been for his brother?

He didn’t respond to Merle’s question. His wrists were getting sore under the rough rope Merle had bound them in, and his eyes still didn’t work right. Lights were dancing before him, making him feel sick and disoriented. Sara would probably tell him he had a concussion. Since the accident at the prison his head had never been entirely right again.

Merle watched him curiously. “She dead?” he asked casually.

“What?” Daryl asked, confused.

“She lost the brat, didn’t she? I saw yer Officer Friendly bury it. Heard her screaming, too, in that barn,” Merle sneered, and Daryl had never hated him more. Then Merle demanded, “Was it yers?”

Daryl held his brother’s gaze, even though his eyes were smarting with tears. “Yeah,” he said as firmly as he could. “And Rick’s, too.”

Merle grimaced, and spat on the ground with disgust.

“What d’ya want, Merle?” Daryl pressed through clenched teeth.

“Why, to be reunited with my dear lil brother, of course,” Merle said, feigning surprise. “Now that yer bitch is dead I thought ya’d like to start over. Make some happier memories, eh?”

“She ain’t dead,” Daryl snarled.

Merle’s face showed his surprise, but before he could say anything else something rustled in the bushes near the path that led into the clearing. Merle jumped up from the log and wheeled around. Only now did Daryl notice that the stump where Merle’s left hand used to be was covered by a rigid casing, from which a long blade protruded. He instinctively knew that Merle had hit him over the head with the unyielding part of his self-made prosthetic. In his right hand, Merle was holding a gun.

The bushes shuddered, and a moment later, Rick stepped into the path, hands raised. “Merle,” he said quietly, “put that weapon away and we’ll talk.”

“You…,” Merle hissed.

Daryl was about to call out to Rick, shout a warning. But then a small, cool hand touched his shoulder. Daryl froze. He knew that touch.

“Daryl,” Sara whispered. “Hold still a moment, I’ll cut you loose.”

He did as he was told, and she chopped away at the rope around his wrists. Soon it fell away. Daryl slowly turned his head.

Sara’s face was ashen, her blue eye huge and bloodshot. She looked too weak to stand unaided, let alone creep around the woods. But here she was, and there was steel in her gaze. She lifted her dagger.

“End it,” she said.

Daryl took the knife with a hand still numb from being bound for so long. Crouching low, he moved noiselessly until he was by his brother’s side. “Merle,” he growled.

Merle’s focus was still on Rick. Now he spun around, surprised. Daryl drove the dagger deep into his stomach, all the way up to the hilt. Merle made a strangled sort of noise, somewhere between a moan and a snarl. He staggered and took an unsteady step toward Daryl, who backed away. Daryl’s hand slid off the knife, slippery with blood.

Merle dropped his gun, and clumsily tried to swipe at Daryl with the blade on his prosthesis. Daryl backed away further. His foot caught on a root in the ground, and, with his balance impaired by the blow to the head, he stumbled and fell.

Swaying, Merle tried to swipe at Daryl again, missing him by inches. He grunted and took aim once more, but before he could bear down on Daryl, a shot rang through the air. Merle froze, a sudden, red splotch blooming on his chest. Then, very slowly, he toppled to the ground. Daryl barely managed to roll out of the way. Lying on his stomach he glanced up. There stood Michonne, near the tree against which Daryl had been leaning. Her gun was still up, her eyes blazing with fury at the now unmoving form of Merle.

With a soft moan of distress, Sara hurried to Daryl’s side, and Rick followed suit. Soon they were kneeling by his side. Rick’s eyes were full of relief. He clutched Daryl’s hand but seemed unable to speak. Sara pulled Daryl’s head into her lap. “Your head, Daryl,” she whispered. “Lie still.”

“We don’t have time for that,” Michonne growled. She crouched by Merle’s body, pulled the dagger out from under him and plunged it unceremoniously into his skull. “We’ll have company any minute now, that shot has alerted anything moving in the vicinity.” She wiped the dagger on Merle’s shirt, then straightened up.

“We gotta bury him,” Daryl said blearily. He tried to sit up. His head seemed to weigh a ton.

“Not now, Daryl,” Michonne said. “I’ll come back later with Abe. First, we gotta get you guys back. Don’t argue,” she added, looking so fierce that Daryl didn’t dare.

Michonne held out her hands to Sara. “Come here,” she said. And to Rick she added, “You take Daryl.”

“Be careful,” Sara said fearfully as Rick helped Daryl to his feet.

The journey back to Alexandria was a blur. Michonne got them back to the road where an old, battered car was parked. They were only about five miles from Alexandria, but to Daryl the drive seemed much longer. He rested his head on Rick’s chest, with Rick’s arms holding him tightly. He tried not to feel the nausea welling up as the car swayed and bumped over the crumbling road. Sara nestled against his other side, and her strained, exhausted breaths were very loud.

They drove into a quiet, peaceful Alexandria. Rick helped Daryl out of the car, but then Daryl stopped dead.

“What is it, buddy?” Rick asked tersely and tightened his hold on Daryl. “Don’t you pass out on me now…”

“Rick,” Daryl whispered, watching Sara’s retreating back as Michonne helped her climb the porch steps to the big, elegant house that was now their home. “What’s gonna happen?”

Rick sighed and pulled him close. “I don’t know, Daryl. But right now, I don’t care. All I care about is that I didn’t lose you both. We’ve lost so much, I was sure this was the end.” He kissed Daryl’s temple very gently and brought their foreheads together. “I was lucky today, and I won’t ever take that for granted.”


	8. Epilogue

Sara checked Daryl’s head and his pupils, and put an ice pack on the swelling behind his ear. “You’ll be okay,” she said. “Mild concussion, is all.” She sat down shakily on the bed and started to undress. “Early night for us all, yeah?”

Rick nodded. “Good idea.”

He took Daryl through into the bathroom to wash off Merle’s blood and help him out of his dirty, sweaty clothes. “Sit,” he ordered, and Daryl sat down on the closed toilet lid. Rick soaked a wash cloth in warm water and washed Daryl’s face, neck and chest, and Daryl didn’t protest. It felt so good.

As he ran the cloth down Daryl’s arms, then his back, he told Daryl how Sara had insisted they go out and find him, that she’d known something was wrong. That it had been her who had spotted Merle’s car parked by the side of the road, looking too well cared for to be a wreck. How she had tracked the broken twigs and footsteps Merle had left behind when he’d dragged Daryl into the woods

“I thought the whole time she’d just fall down and not get up again,” Rick confessed as he gave Daryl a clean T-shirt to put on and then helped him to his feet. “I nearly carried her, she was so weak. But all she could think of was you.”

Tears were running down his face now, and Daryl felt them stinging his own eyes. The numbness and exhaustion gave once more way to grief about their baby boy, and images of the horror encounter with Merle. He turned to Rick and took him into his arms. Rick held on tightly.

“We got out alive, Rick.” Now it was Daryl’s turn to give the pep talk. “Let’s focus on that, and finding out what the deal is with this place.”

They went into the bedroom. Sara was fast asleep on the far side of the bed. Rick helped Daryl crawl under the covers, then quickly stripped to boxer shorts. Daryl scooted close to Sara, and put his arm over her shoulder. Only half waking, she turned until she lay curled up against him. Rick took his usual place behind Daryl. Lying together felt safe, and good, like nothing could harm them again.

But that was a lie, an illusion they’d told themselves too many times.

Sara whispered, “Don’t give up hope.” Her small hand reached across Daryl and found Rick’s fingers in the dark. “This isn’t the end. As long as we’re alive, there’ll always be a tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! There might be a third part for this series, who knows! :)


End file.
